The Path to Freedom
by Hidden.Forever
Summary: Harry Potter is being taken to Voldemort, who uses an obscure type of magic to turn Harry into a Squib. He is saved at the last moment by Severus Snape and Harry relearns to use his magic. In the meanwhile, the Wizarding World is at the mercy of DE.
1. The End of an Era

DISCLAIMER: The Potterverse and anything else you might recognize belong to J. K. Rowling

A/N: The story will become a Harry/Snape Mentorship story, but not until a few chapters from now. Even then, the story will not focus entirely on them. So that you know.

* * *

Chapter I: The End of an Era

Dumbledore stared with unfocused eyes at his wrinkled, weary reflection. This time, he had to tip his hat to Voldemort - the Draught of Delirium was bound to put off almost anyone pursuing the Horcruxes. The surface of the potion shimmered for a brief moment and a haggard, resigned expression stared back at him. He was not looking forward to revising the sins of the past – they haunted him enough as it was.

What an arrogant fool he had been, to rush into the cave without any help. During his extremely long life, he had pulled many harebrained stunts and had narrowly escaped death on a number of occasions. This one, however, could cost him his life.

Some would say he had gotten overconfident, but he knew the truth for what it was – he had been too proud to consider somebody else's help. After all, he was the almighty, all-knowing Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump, Leader of the Order of the Phoenix. If not for him, the Resistance would have crumbled apart years ago, during Voldemort's first reign. But if he ever needed help, was there anyone to support him?

Grindelwald had been his equal, his intellectual match. His promises of power and world domination had seduced him, pulling him into murky waters. But if it hadn't been for the death of sister, would he have realized the errors of his friend's ways?

Probably not. And that, in itself, was tragic.

Ever since, he had led a life trying to atone for the sins of the past. During the dark times of Voldemort's first reign, the world had needed a leader – and he had become that person everybody relied on, the sage that had a solution for everything. Day by day, the mask cracked down, the paint came off – and nobody noticed. Nobody bothered to, because nobody wanted to see the imperfect man behind the twinkling eyes and the smiling face.

He grabbed the chalice and dunked it into the potion. He brought it slowly it to his lips, his face twisted in the anticipation of the dreadful visions. His fingers gripped the edge of the bowl as the memories came flooding in… The battle, the accident, his grief, his guilt, the lies…

In a way, he should have been thankful for the potion. Revisiting the past had made him see the error of his ways – they said that hindsight is always 20/20. He had manipulated many people for the sake of the "greater good"…but that didn't make it right. Over the years, he had stomped over the desires of others in order to promote his own agenda. Ironically, that's what Grindelwald would have done. Fate had a twisted sense of humour, it seemed.

Chalice in his hand, he recalled Harry, whom he'd left behind at Hogwarts. Over the years, he had grown attached to him and he was convinced Harry would be shattered by the news of his death. However, he had confidence in the young man's inner strength. Harry had proven time and again that he was resilient, resourceful and willing to put the fate of others before himself. Yes, deep down he knew Harry would finish what he had started…or so he hoped.

He took a sip, and another, and another.

When he finished the potion, he let the chalice roll away from his hold, hitting the stony floor with a clang. His strength was waning by the minute. With his withered hand he picked the locket by the chain. The medallion looked innocuous, its intricate S-shaped design sparkling in the faint light in the cave. "Beautiful", one would think - if he couldn't feel the pulse of soul magic ebbing from it.

However, there was no possibility of going past the Inferi and back to Hogwarts – the potion had drained him of all his strength. He had reached the end of his journey, but at least he had the consolation destroying Voldemort's seventh pillar of immortality.

Unless Voldemort had created even more Horcruxes, shredding his soul further…He shuddered at the thought.

Called by the magic of the Horcrux, the Inferi encircled the small island. They approached slowly, bodies after bodies crept out of the water and the air filled with the stench of looked at the Inferi – he had expected them to come. He would die just as he had lived – with a blast. His blue eyes twinkled at the thought.

After all, death was nothing but the beginning of the journey.

Summoning his brightest memory, he watched nostalgically as the white Patronus soared and flew through the ceiling. He waved his wand again.

The time had come.

Seconds later, Fiendfyre flames engulfed the cave and everything in it. The lake wavered violently before stilling into a perfect mirror, reflecting the scorched ceiling above.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Miles away, the cry of a scarlet bird was heard throughout the castle.

Somewhere deep within the Hogwarts dungeons, Severus Snape was adding Leaves of Antamoria to the simmering potion. The translucent mixture turned opaque and became viscous – another disappointment. Taking a few notes of the potion's properties – color, consistency, and magical signature – Severus vanished the potion and set up a new batch. It was time to start over.

This was how his life had been for the last months: try, fail, repeat. Albus had told him it was futile. He knew that. Albus had also said that it wasn't worth it over-exhausting himself in order to save an old man's life. This was where his mentor was wrong – and he wouldn't stop until he proved the man otherwise.

Severus had started his research by sifting through his Dark Arts collection. This section of his personal library was comprised of books on various topics: magical potency of dark artifacts; binding and unbinding the soul to your will; necromancy and its prerequisites; the use of Dark Magic in healing techniques; through the veil and beyond.

All his work eventually turned out to be pointless. Well, he could have foreseen that; really Dark books do not sit idly on a random shelf in a Knockturn Alley bookstore. They are passed on from generation to generation, from master to apprentice, from father to son. The masters of the most tainted branches of magic take their secrets to the grave, leaving behind nothing but whispers in the wind.

Realizing that Dark Arts were not the solution, Severus had decided to investigate Charms. After all, it had been a charm that had managed to slow down the evolution of the curse in the first place; he couldn't dismiss the possibility without conducting a proper research.

Despite his perseverance, he hadn't found a charm that could undo the curse.

In the end, he had decided to focus on what he knew best – Potions. During the months of research he had stumbled across with several ingredients that showed promise, such as Milonniel essence or Hareff seeds. Ever since, he had been experimenting with various combinations and brewing methods.

In that night, the Potions Master was stirring counterclockwise after having added Jobberknoll feathers when Dumbledore's Patronus materialized in front of him. To prevent any unwanted side effects, he vanished the potion. The phoenix began speaking and he listened intently, his face as expressionless as ever. Then the phoenix disappeared, the sudden silence ringing in his ears.

He stood still for a good few seconds staring at the empty cauldron… before Bombarding it to pieces, the fine metal chunks scattering across the floor of his potions laboratory.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The students in front of her continue to scribble down notes, albeit they certainly lacked the enthusiasm. They did pay attention to what she was saying but… It was a shame, really, that none of them wished to pursue a career in Astronomy, seeing as most of them had potential. Take, for example, miss Brown over there, who could certainly excel in this domain if she would only apply herself more…

"Who can tell me what the name of the Cygnus constellation means? Anybody?"

Aurora fought the impulse to roll her eyes. Really, no one wanting to answer? What was with the long faces? It was frustrating, really! Whenever she would ask a question, the students would simply look away and…zone out. The older ones anyway. The younger generations were usually pretty excited by magic and eager to learn…

"Miss Granger?"

The girl snapped out of her pensive mood and straightened herself, looking contrite for a moment.

"The name Cygnus originates from Greek and translates as "Swan"."

"That is correct, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor. Regarding the magical properties of this constellation and its impact on other magical fields, you should know that Cygnus has been connected with certain Healing techniques since ancient times. The earliest written record…"

The professor sighed inwardly, but decided to go on with the presentation regardless of her student's long faces. They were obviously bored, but she certainly wasn't to blame for their lack of attention! She'd tried everything she could think of in order to arouse their interest, but it was no use. It was likely that, with Astronomy being an elective for the N.E.W.T.s, they simply…didn't…care. Oh, well.

"It is time for our practical. Tonight we will observe the group of constellations we studied today; namely, Cepheus, Draco, Lyra, Vulpecula, Pegasus, Lacerta and Cygnus. Follow me."

The sixth years began climbing the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower, chatting merrily along the way. It would seem that, when taken out of a classroom environment, the teenagers would resume their usual vivaciousness. How...peculiar.

While the students adjusted their telescopes, Sinistra gazed at the stars. The job of an Astronomy teacher didn't bring her the professional satisfaction she had always wanted, but it was secure and stable enough. After several years spent at Hogwarts, her job ended up defining her lifestyle…not to mention Hogwarts was one of the only havens around in these times…if not the only one left.

"Professor Sinistra, could you help me for a moment, please?" Terry Boot asked her, interrupting her musings. "I can't seem to find the lenses box…and I'm sure it has to be here somewhere…"

"Sure, Mr. Boot," she amiably replied. "I'll be ri…" She froze mid-sentence, then turned back to look at the sky again. Her eyes widened…she may have been a dunce at Divination as a student, but even she knew _that _particular omens was never a good sign.

She suppressed a shudder and covered her uneasiness with a smile – it was silly of her to get spooked like that anyway.

"I'll be right there to help you search for the lenses."

She kneeled to be able to read the labels better and then pulled out a small box.

"Here you go, Mister Boot," she said, handing him the lenses. "Be sure to…"

She never got around to finishing the sentence, as a short, piercing wail ripped apart the silence. When it stopped, everybody looked at each other, confused and chilled to the bone. Seamus was the first one to shake away the grim feeling.

"What in the bloody blazes was that? A Banshee?"

Hermione looked at the Gryffindor boy, her face turned white. "A Phoenix' mourning cry."

A calm, melodious song replaced the shrill cry of the phoenix and the soft tunes of the melody descended over them, catching everybody in its spell. It was soothing, in a way, but it still carried that note of …loss.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry looked at Hermione. He had to ask her friend…his voice came out cracked when he spoke.

"That's …That's Fawkes, isn't it?" He paused. "Isn't it?"

Hermione stared at the floor, unable to respond.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Minerva woke up to the sound of somebody calling her name repeatedly. Caught up between dream and reality, the first thing that came to her mind was that Albus being present in her quarters didn't make much sense at all. Albus? What was Albus doing there? She fumbled on the nightstand until she found her square-rimmed glasses. If this was some petty House rivalry the reason why he woke her up, there would be hell to pay! She would have a few words to say on the matter and…

She expected to see many things when she would open her eyes. Being face-to-face with a ghastly Patronus was not one of them.

"Minerva, I'm sorry. Farewell." The phoenix spoke in Albus' voice.

When she blinked, the white Patronus had already vanished, as if it'd never been there. Sorry? Farewell? What? Why? Why would Albus…

The harrowing cry of anguish made her realize what had really happened. _Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no no …No!_

The song of the phoenix filled the chambers and the corridors, but she was unable to hear it. In her mind, Albus' last words to her repeated themselves over and over:

"Minerva, I'm sorry. Farewell."

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Minutes later, Minerva McGonagall was heading towards the Staff Room, the sound of her heels hitting the floor echoing as she walked the corridors. She looked just as stern as ever: her hair was pulled together in a bun, not a stray hair out of place. No one would have noticed anything peculiar but for the way she was gripping her wand tightly, as if her life depended on it.

The news of Albus' death had shaken her to the core, but she dismissed the shock quickly, putting it on the back burner for a moment. She would deal with that later; for now, it would not do to show weakness in a time like this. Being perceived as Dumbledore's successor by her colleagues, she was ready to take over the responsibilities and carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. This was what Albus would've wanted her to do and she was determined to finish what he had started.

Most of the teachers looked oblivious, but they were wary that something might have happened. Sybill – that hopeless, dreamy witch - stared at her through her round glasses and was just about to say something before being abruptly cut off by Irma – bless her soul. She was in no mood to listen to her delirious prophecies. Filius and Pomona were involved in a discussion of some sort and seemed to disagree. Aurora, to her surprise, hid her nervousness rather well, fidgeting from time to time. Next to her, Rubeus appeared to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown, which was probably not far from the truth. On the other hand, Severus and Cuthbert just sat there with unreadable expressions, as if nothing had happened. None of the reactions took her by surprise. Horace finally slid through the door and took his usual seat at the table, being the last one to arrive.

"I believe I should tell you the significance of the song you've all heard. There is no easy way to do this… Al…Albus Dumbledore is dead." Minerva announced in a dry voice.

The ruckus began almost immediately; some were shouting in denial, others were silently accepted what they've realized that it had to be true. Pomona was acting wildly, demanding some sort of explanation, while Poppy tried to calm her down. Severus summoned a handkerchief and offered it to Rubeus, his sneer clearly showing his disgust for the loud giant. Aurora flicked her head to the window for a second and Trewlawney was telling Septima, Rolanda and anybody else who cared to listen that she'd foreseen it all. Meanwhile, Filius tried to make himself heard over the general noise and cleared his throat several times.

"I believe Minerva should be the Headmistress until we sort everything out. Do you agree? "

Everyone acquiesced and the voices dropped down.

"Thank you, Filius. First of all, I believe that we should go and inform the students and calm them down. They deserve to know. Anything else will have to wait. Heads of Houses follow me."

Slughorn turned to face the embittered-looking DADA professor, his chair scraping the floor as he stood up to follow Minerva.

"Severus, I do believe you should be the one to tell the Slytherins, seeing as you've known them for years and everything…What do you say?"

The other professor glared at him.

"Do not shirk your responsibilities so quickly, Horace. After all, you've been the Head of Slytherin for almost a year; you have had plenty of occasions to get to know them better. I'm heading back to my quarters."

Severus started walking towards the lateral exit without turning back.

"If that is how much you care about your students, then I'm very disappointed in you, Severus!" Horace bellowed." I've known you for all these years and I knew you'd end up being a nobody, I knew it! You cold-hearted, no good…"His voice trailed off when Snape closed the door behind him.

Left with no alternatives, Horace turned towards Minerva, who was waiting for him with her arms folded on her chest. Inwardly sighing, he began heading towards the dungeons.

The sixth year Gryffindors walked together towards the dorms. Dean and Seamus walked in front of the group, trying – and failing – to cheer everybody before giving up. Neville went by himself, his hands in the pocket of his jeans. Harry and Ron followed him, with Ron occasionally trying to crack a joke from time to time, trying to cheer his apathetic friend. At the end of the group, Hermione tried to calm down Lavender, with Parvati walking at the other side of her best friend.

"I know everyone believed Dumbledore is dead, Harry, but I don't think it's true. After all, this is Dumbledore we're talking about! Dumbledore! He can't just, die…can he? We still don't know how or why he died, so…"

The Boy-Who-Lived stared at his best friend in disbelief and said nothing.

"I mean…With Dumbledore gone, what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know, Ron," the other murmured, "I really don't know."

Seeing Harry so grim, Ron fell silent. "He's really dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, Ron. And I still don't know how or why or…what the hell I am supposed to do now."

Dean said the password and the Fat Lady swung open to allow them entrance. In the Common Room, all the students had woken up and were looking puzzled due to being awoken so abruptly.

"Well?" Cynthia, a seventh year girl asked. "Why the long faces all so sudden?"

After an uncomfortable silence, someone eventually replied.

"Dumbledore's dead."

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Harry lay down on his four poster bed, thinking. Ron's earlier question had come back to haunt him: What was he supposed to do now, without Dumbledore? Together, they had planned the demise of Voldemort for over a year, taking down the Horcruxes one by one. The Diary and the Ring had already been destroyed. He had helped Dumbledore identify and dispose of the Tiara and Tom Riddle's Award, which had been hidden in Hogwarts. Somehow, Dumbledore had managed to trace down Hufflepuff's cup and Gryffindor's Shield. Harry still remembered going after the Shield as it were yesterday.

Did Dumbledore go all by himself after the last Horcrux because he had deemed it too dangerous for Harry to come? Or maybe he had been too confident in his own skills that he decided to go alone? What had gone wrong during the mission? And, most importantly, where did that leave him now?

"Harry? You alright?" Ron's voice came from the bed next to his.

"Yeah, Ron, I'm fine. Splendid. Marvellous. Never been better in my life."

"Good to hear that, mate, especially now. G'night."

Ron let out a yawn and felt asleep within seconds, to Harry's astonishment. It was times like these that he wondered how his best friend to be so oblivious… He sometimes envied that about the red-haired boy: the ability to waltz through life without worrying about anything. Then again, Ron wasn't the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the Wizarding World.

He shifted himself into a more comfortable position, being aware he had a long, sleepless night in front of him.


	2. Out of Balance

Chapter II: Out of Balance

Seated in an armchair at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa was reading a book she'd randomly picked off the shelf. Apart from some scarce visits from her sister (the one she still spoke to), there was nothing to break the monotony of days. With Lucius in Azkaban, her life had become dull, the days blurring themselves together.

Circumstances had forced her to stay in Britain much longer than she preferred, in order to attend to Draco. She didn't like being grounded to one place for long – travelling was her life. Living in the Manor wasn't that bad, but its emptiness drove her crazy. Lucius wasn't there to rant about the sway of politics or the Dark Lord's latest impossible demands.

Even with her husband gone, the Dark Lord's influence still hung over her head. She didn't know the details of her son's mission, but she'd only needed one look at him, last Christmas, to see how it had taken its toll on his physical and mental health.

She didn't want to think what would happen if Draco failed to please the Dark Lord.

The flames crackled in the fireplace and she flipped the page to resume reading. It was either that, or dwell on dangerous thoughts.

It had taken her several seconds to register that someone was knocking at the door of her study. Taking her wand out of its holster, she headed slowly towards the intricately carved wooden door. With her husband in prison and her son at Hogwarts, there was no one else left in the Manor but her – and the wards would've alerted her to any visitors. So who was….

She opened the door to reveal a widely grinning Draco.

"Not expecting me so soon, mother?" There was a sparkle of mischievousness in the cold, grey eyes.

Suspicious of the newcomer, Narcissa narrowed her eyes, still keeping him at wand point.

"Who are you?"

"My, aren't you even recognizing me now? I'm your son, of course," Draco replied, still grinning.

"Proved it," she replied in an emotionless tone.

"Well, mother, who else would know about the secret room behind the History bookcase, hmm?"

"There is no such thing."

"Of course there isn't. Who on Earth would hide an entrance behind a bookcase when you can just restrict the access to blood magic, thus preventing any kind of annoying meddlers from entering? Speaking of which, I've just come by to pick up something from the stock. I'm sure father won't mind. If you'll excuse me…"

Narcissa watched her son climb the stairs, the paintings on the wall also watching him closely. How had her son entered the Manor?

Draco returned within minutes, his school bag still on one of his shoulders.

"I have a few things to tell you before I go. Firstly, the headmaster has gotten himself killed. Nobody knows how or they don't want the information to leak out. No surprise there. Secondly, remember the closet that I've brought to my room? Well, I've fixed it, so stay away from it unless you want to end up in Hogwarts. Oh, and I'll have a pleasant surprise for the Dark Lord pretty soon. Questions?"

She analyzed her son for a few seconds before replying.

"I don't know what's going on, Draco, but I don't like it. Don't get tangled into the plots you're weaving."

"Oh, I won't," Draco answered reassuringly, closing the door to his room behind him.

Narcissa returned to reading the book she'd left in the study.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The Golden Trio stood down at the Gryffindor table, watching the crowd going to and fro. It was lunch time and they had about two hours until Herbology started. Several hours after the announcement, the school had gone back to its usual hustle and bustle of students. Arms crossed, Harry watched the students like an eagle looking for potential prey.

"I can't believe it," Harry said curtly.

"What is it this time, Harry?" Hermione asked, an exasperated undercurrent entering her voice.

"I can't believe it! It's been only a few hours and everyone acts like nothing's happened! As if McGonagall's been headmistress for ages and…"

Hermione decided it would be a bad time to point out the black banners hanging over the tables. "Harry… I don't think the news has had time to sink in…It's hard to believe that Voldemort's greatest opponent has just…died, you know? Despite this McGonagall's announcement this morning, I don't think most students believe it. Wait until the funeral."

Ron began slicing the steak on his plate. "Besides, mate, not everyone knew him as well as you-we did. What did you expect, everyone to fall on their knees, rip their hair apart and wail to the heavens above?"

"Yes!"

"Maybe you should eat something, mate. You haven't touched anything today."

"I am not hungry, Ron, thank you very much."

The red-haired shrugged and continued his meal.

"Harry," she continued her futile attempt of calming him down, "I believe there's something else that's making you so angry. What's wrong, Harry?"

"Wrong?" He snapped at her. "I'll tell you what's wrong. I…" he faltered. Lowering his voice, he added "We need to go elsewhere."

She nodded, and the three of them left the Main Hall.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

On the seventh floor corridor, Ron Weasley pulled at the handle of a wooden door that refused to open. After several failed attempts, he gave up and looked at his friends, one of them sulking and the other at the end of her patience.

"Locked? How can the Room of Requirement be locked?"

"Someone's in, that's how." Even after the long walk, Harry was just as irate.

"To be frank, Harry," Hermione added, "we're not the only ones to know about the room, remember? I'm sure the D.A. members have used it ever since on various occasions."

"Well then, where else can we go?"

" How about the Common Room, guys?" Ron asked. "The sofa is comfortable enough and ,with several privacy spells around us, nobody will hear a thing. And we're not even that far from the entrance."

"Well…Seeing that the Room of Requirement is not available, I don't believe we have any other options."

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"Homenum Revelio…Muffliato…Ok, this should suffice." Hermione sat down next to the other two boys." So, Harry, what's got you so riled up?"

"Yeah,mate, you've been looking murderous ever since breakfast."

"Well…Dumbledore's dead, for starters?"

"Besides that."

"Besides that?" Harry yelled. "Maybe the fact that McGonagall tells me that Dumbledore went into that cave by himself when I should have been there with him?"

Hermione shifted a bit. "Woah, Harry, slow down. What did McGonagall tell you?"

Harry paused to gather his thoughts. "Well, this morning, when I've gone to Du-…the headmaster's office, she told me that Dumbledore left her a message."

"What message?" Hermione inquired.

"A Patronus."

Next to Harry, Ron frowned. "And he didn't send you anything?"

"No, nothing. I have no idea why. Why…"

"What was the message?" Hermione interrupted him.

"What? Oh, the message. She told me that "the last thing had been taken care of and I would know what that was."

Hermione fell silent.

"So,"Ron thought,"if Dumbledore destroyed the last Horcrux when he died, that would mean that you only have to kill You-Know-Who and the war is over, right?"

Harry glared at his friend. "Sure thing, Ron. Yeah, I'll just pop in for a surprise visit and yell Avada Kedavra. Consider it done."

Hermione mumbled something inaudible.

"Hermione, what is it?"

"I was thinking…Maybe we've gone about this completely the wrong way. We've assumed all this time that there are 7 Horcruxes…but maybe there aren't."

All three of them got chills down their spine.

"I mean…The only proof we have that supports our seven-Horcruxes theory is professor Slughorn's memory, but we have no way of confirming or infirming that he actually created that many."

"Blimey."

After a few seconds, Harry recalled something.

"Wait a second…hadn't Dumbledore said that souls are very fragile and, therefore, very unstable after they've been shattered across several Horcruxes? I thought that even splitting one's soul into seven pieces would be dangerous, and now you're saying there might be even more Horcruxes?"

Hermione sighed.

"I don't know, Harry. I really don't know – it's not like I've actually experimented with fracturing one soul into pieces, okay? I'll ask McGonagall if I can look for more information into Dumbledore's library; there has to be one or two helpful books on the topic."

"Well then," Harry said while getting off the sofa. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to the Quidditch pitch. It's been a long day and I need to think things over."

"Sure thing, pal! I'll…" He shut up when Hermione elbowed him. "I'll go …over the material for Herbology class once more with Hermione. We'll wait for you there, okay?"

"Okay."

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

It was a wonderful time for flying, Harry thought as he looked at the sky. Despite being 1 o'clock in a summer day, clouds blocked the sun above so that the temperature and visibility were ideal.

Letting go of the broom in his hand, his trusty Firebolt hovered quickly into position. Seconds later, Harry was circling around the pitch, diving steeply only to pull away at the last second or accelerating from one part of the field to another.

Flying had been one of the few, positive constants in his life. The feeling of being up in the sky, the wind rushing through his hair, was something that no one could ever take away from him. No matter how dire things were, flying was a good of forgetting everything for a few, blissful minutes.

His heart skipped a beat when the broom halted mid-flight, then pulled forward again. After hours of Quidditch practice he was sure that wasn't supposed to happen. It was like First Year game all over again, although Harry had a grim feeling that, this time, it wouldn't end the same way…

Steadying the broom with one hand, he pulled his wand with the other. He had to think of a spell, and fast…He was dangerously close to the ground and the broom kept accelerating.

If only he knew who was casting…

"Home…"

"Stupefy!"

The spell missed him, but the distraction was enough. A few seconds later, everything went black as he hit the ground.


End file.
